


I Put A Spell On You

by houdini74



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Magic, David has a cat, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Spells & Enchantments, kitchen magic, so much baking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:40:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28408644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/houdini74/pseuds/houdini74
Summary: David is a witch who spends his days baking cupcakes and uses his magic to to help people find happiness until his life is turned upside down by the arrival of a very cute and very unhappy Patrick Brewer.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 82
Kudos: 272





	I Put A Spell On You

**Author's Note:**

> I love the concept of small domestic, kitchen magic and David would make a perfect, if somewhat reluctant witch. Thanks to the cheerleaders at the Rosebudd for all the support.

Five o’clock comes way too early. It’s been too early for the past six years, but this is David’s life and he has no choice but to embrace it. Or at the very least, begrudgingly accept it. The crack of dawn is not, and will never be, a suitable time for anyone to be awake, but it’s the only way he can get the day’s baking done before he opens at seven o’clock. Six years of practice do nothing to dull the fact that everything about this time of the morning is offensive, from the lack of sleep to the way it interferes with his prime witching hours. No matter how badly he wants to sleep in, his customers expect muffins and cupcakes with their morning coffee.

He’s not fully awake until he’s had at least two cups of coffee but he fights off a yawn and pulls out the ingredients for the first batch of muffins and sets them on the stainless steel countertop. Flour, sugar, butter, eggs. He adds a couple of lemons and the handful of lavender that he’d picked yesterday afternoon so he won’t have to stumble around his herb garden in the pre-dawn light. Pulling on his favourite black apron, he gets to work.

Making cupcakes is something he can do on autopilot, he doesn’t have to focus until he measures the final ingredients, so he lets his muscle memory take over, sifting and stirring, his favorite wooden spoon bouncing off the side of the stainless steel bowl. By the time the cupcake batter is ready for the last touches, his coffee has brewed, so he pours a large mug, doctoring it with sweeteners and cocoa powder before taking a gulp, letting the caffeine settle into his mind before he tackles the final, tricky step of the recipe.

The lemon zest goes into the bowl first. He grates it carefully over the top of the batter. Zest for zest, his mother used to say, before the tension of having two practicing witches in the same kitchen got to be too much for both of them and he’d relocated (fled) to a different city. He stirs the zest in carefully, seven strokes clockwise followed by seven counter-clockwise as he murmurs the charm under his breath. The lavender follows, imbuing the cupcakes with love, encouraging his patrons to follow their hearts. With all the ingredients thoroughly mixed, he spoons the batter into the pans, making sure his rings are in the correct configuration on his right hand before he sketches the last part of the charm in the air over the cupcakes as he slides them into the oven. He’s a witch, not a timekeeper, so he sets the timer, and after finishing his first cup of coffee, he moves onto the next recipe.

Given the choice, he wouldn’t have chosen to be a witch. Witches, his mom had explained after he cast his first spell, are about creating connections and putting love and comfort into the world. Not that every witch is a good witch, but the itch under his skin can only be satisfied by infusing his baking with charms for love and happiness. He’d resented it at first, being responsible for creating joy for others that only seems to elude him but slowly he’s grown to appreciate a job well done. Giving his head a shake to push away the cobwebs that must have taken residence overnight, he pulls out the next batch of ingredients, losing himself in the mixing and stirring to start his day.

Two hours later, he pulls the last batch of orange ginger muffins out of the oven. Orange for generosity, ginger for strength. Who doesn’t need some of that to start their morning? With everything out of the oven, he dusts the baking with a mixture of sugar and witch hazel, just enough to set the spells.

“Rroww.” Artemis, his black tortoiseshell cat rouses herself from her bed by the kitchen window, stretching out to her full length before jumping down to the floor. Having a cat in the kitchen isn’t up to health codes, but what kind of witch would he be if he can’t keep a little cat hair under control?

“Good morning to you too.” He clucks the cat under the chin, adding some food to her dish by the back door.

With everything ready, he takes five minutes to pour his third cup of coffee. Will Patrick come in today? It’s Saturday, so a trip to the bakery might not be part of the other man’s routine. There’s no reason for David to care if Patrick shows up today. Just because his whiskey brown eyes crinkle when he smiles or his forearms look obscenely good in his blue button-down shirt or he somehow has the ability effortlessly coax a smile from David, there’s no reason to care whether he sees Patrick today. No reason at all.

Patrick had appeared in his bakery on Monday, the unhappiness rolling off him in waves, so strong that it made David’s hands shake. Every day since then, Patrick has returned, trying to disguise his misery with a bright smile and teasing joke and no matter how many charmed cupcakes David gives him, nothing seems to lessen the other man’s inner turmoil.

The morning rush dies to a trickle, and there’s no sign of Patrick. David shakes away his disappointment. Patrick probably just works in the area, there’s no reason for him to be here on the weekend. David doesn’t care, after all. He doesn’t. Patrick’s just nice and sad and David wants to help him if he can. That’s all that it is. He’s straightening up the display case, arranging the last few cupcakes, when the door opens and Patrick comes inside.

Ignoring how his heart jumps at the sight of him, David slides the glass door of the display case closed. If Patrick is going to come by regularly, David might need to add some ground cattail to his morning coffee to calm his nerves. “Hi.” The word is both too soft and too loud in the empty bakery.

“Hi.” Patrick rocks on the balls of his feet for a second before approaching the counter. His smile is bright and sure, but David can see the sadness surrounding him like a neon sign above his head. “I was telling my girlfriend— my fiance— about your cupcakes and she insisted I bring her one.”

Oh. Well, that answers that question. David clenches his fingers to stop himself from writing a nasty charm on the top of a cupcake for Patrick’s girlfriend. Fiance. But if he’s just gotten engaged, why doesn’t Patrick seem happier? If anything, David senses that his unhappiness only seems to increase at the mention of his girlfriend. “Well, the marjoram scones are a particular favorite.” He’s infused them with joy and happiness, something Patrick can definitely use. “Or the pear cupcakes are also delicious.” Pear is for comfort. What is it about this man with his too-bright smile and his overly loud eyes that makes David want to comfort him?

“Hmm, I’ll take one of each, then. And an Earl Grey tea.” Patrick leans against the counter as David places the baked goods into a bag and rings up his order. He expects Patrick to leave right away, but he lingers, hip pressed against the counter, eyes intent on David’s until he wants to squirm beneath the weight of them. “What made you want to start a bakery?”

The truth is, he’s never had any choice. His magic bonds to flour and sugar and incorporating the different herbs and flavors makes it easy to release it into the world. He’d resisted at first, not wanting to follow in his mother’s witchy footsteps, but the year he’d spent refusing to do magic had chewed him up inside, the unreleased power eating away at him until he’d given it an outlet. He’d baked for a month straight after he’d given in, drowning in a bender made of butter and sugar. He’s not going to tell Patrick any of that. “Family business.”

“Does your family work here? I thought you worked alone?” A look that might almost be disappointment flits across Patrick’s face. But Patrick’s just confessed to having a fiance, so he has no reason to feel anything about David’s family situation.

“No, it’s just me. My parents and sister live in California.” Patrick smiles at that, big and bright like always, but this time it’s real, not the smile he uses to cover up his sadness. “What about you, are you new to the neighborhood? I haven’t seen you in here before last week.”

A sheepish look, just this side of embarrassment, rolls across Patrick’s face as his sadness returns. “No, I, uh, I needed to try something new.”

“You’re going pretty far out on a limb to try baked goods, of all things.” David smirks at him, waiting to see if he’ll take the bait. Truth be told, it’s likely one of David’s charms lured Patrick here; scattered around the neighborhood, they draw in anyone seeking joy and comfort, even those who don’t know what they’re looking for.

“Well, David,” Patrick’s voice is a low drawl that makes the hair rise on his arms. “I was going to try the video arcade across the street, but this seemed like the more dangerous option. Patrick lingers on the word ‘dangerous’ as though he can sense the way it licks up David’s spine.

“Just as well you didn’t.” Before he can stop himself, David grabs the cupcake he’d been saving from the counter behind the till. “You know, I could use a taste-tester.” It’s a lie. He knows exactly how the cupcake tastes. But he’s infused the chocolate cupcake with yarrow and verbena in anticipation of an undetermined moment when he might offer it to Patrick.

With a grin, Patrick takes a large bite, the chocolate frosting stains his lips and he licks them clean, mesmerizing David with the sweep of his tongue. A smear of icing lingers in the corner of his mouth and before he can think it through, David reaches out to swipe it away with his thumb. Patrick inhales sharply and David flinches away. “God, sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about, the cupcake is delicious.”

“Take it with you. On the house.” Maybe sending Patrick on his way with the cure for heartbreak woven into the cupcake in his hand will lessen the sadness he’s carrying with him. David places the partially eaten cupcake into a second bag and hands it to Patrick.

“Thanks.” Patrick raises the to go cup of tea at him. “I’ll see you Monday, David.”

“Yeah. Monday.” He watches Patrick go, imagining he can already see a lightness to Patrick’s steps that wasn’t there before.

🌟🌟🌟

Monday arrives, but there’s no sign of Patrick. Nor does he appear for the rest of the week. David watches the door every morning, tormenting himself with a series of tiny disappointments every time someone who isn’t Patrick steps inside.

David closes at one o’clock on Saturdays, most people want fresh baking first thing and he lacks the patience to deal with harried mothers looking to cobble together an assortment of cupcakes for last minute birthday parties. He sweeps the floor and pulls the last of the day’s baking out of the display case, boxing it up to take to the food bank on his way home. He’s just putting the last of the muffins into the container when there’s a knock on the door.

He hurries to answer it, Artemis winding around his feet. As he approaches the door, the silhouette in the glass takes on Patrick’s familiar shape, his heart pounds as he fumbles with the latch, swinging the door open.

Patrick looks terrible. The false cheer he’d worn so carefully has fallen away, leaving deep lines etched in his face. His eyes are hollow and he stares at David for a long moment before stumbling inside and collapsing onto a chair at a small table by the door.

“Are you okay?” He’s clearly not, but David hopes the question will buy him some time. Mentally, he flips through the leftover baking he’d been packing away, searching for anything that might help.

Patrick laughs, a sound so hollow it sounds like the bottom of a well. “Do you ever feel like your life is completely out of your control? Like you can plan and plan and plan and do everything the way you’re supposed to and it still isn’t enough?”

David’s never been much for plans. He’s followed his heart from start to finish, patching himself up when things don’t work out, doing his best to keep from getting irreparably hurt. It’s ironic in its own way that he spends so much energy helping people find love and joy in the world when he isn’t brave enough to do so himself. “Uh, no, I don’t really do plans.”

Sensing an opening, Artemis jumps into Patrick’s lap. He strokes her unconsciously for a moment before regretfully setting her on the floor. “Sorry, I’m really allergic.”

“She won’t bother— She won’t mind.” He can’t tell Patrick that he charms his ordinary-looking cat so that she’s allergy free. Taking a deep breath, he summons the dregs of his bravery and takes a chance. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Rachel and I broke up.” Patrick’s eyes are wild as they search the bakery, frantic for something to hold on to. “And I feel...happy. Relieved. Which must mean I’m a terrible person. Who breaks up with their girlfriend of fifteen years and is happy about it?”

Something’s gone horribly wrong. The baking was supposed to make Patrick find happiness, not ruin his life. Maybe the problem is the combination of ingredients? But he’s never had that happen before. What if other people feel the same way? What if instead of spreading happiness, he’s making everyone miserable?

“I don’t even know why I came here.” Patrick slumps over the table. “It’s just— this is the one place in the past couple of weeks where I feel like myself, you know?” He gives David a twisted smile. “You’re closing up, I should go.”

“Um…” If he’s ever going to take a chance, this is the time to do it. “You could stay, if you wanted.”

“Thanks.” Patrick’s voice is soft and David turns away so he won’t have to deal with the way Patrick’s eyes are shouting at him. There’s no time to bake anything, so he pulls out the tea canister, adding thyme and yarrow for courage and healing to the comfort of the chamomile in the tea ball. Sketching a charm over the top with his finger, he places the mug of tea and a cranberry cookie in front of Patrick.

“Special recipe, it always makes me feel better.”

David works in silence for a while, all too conscious of Patrick sitting behind him as he wipes the counters and cleans the coffee machine. He’s doing an inventory of the fresh herbs in the fridge, making a list of which ones to have ready when he returns on Monday, when Patrick gives a loud sigh and starts to talk.

“We met in high school and everyone said we were the perfect couple.” David is well familiar with the vagaries of what everyone says, so he gives a noncommittal him instead as Patrick continues. “It was so easy at first. And then it got hard. And no matter what I tried to do, nothing made it easy again.” There’s a joke and a question in there about what it would take for Patrick to get hard, but now is not the time so David holds his tongue. “I thought that if I convinced her, if I convinced myself, that we were meant to be, that it would make all the problems disappear.”

“But it didn’t.” David has run out of things to clean. He has no choice but to stand and listen.

“No. It made everything worse.” Patrick’s hands are wrapped so tightly around the mug of tea that David worries it might shatter from the pressure.

“Do you love her?” David interjects as Patrick stops to catch his breath.

A look of panic crosses Patrick’s face and his hands flex on the mug. “I don’t know.” He shoves back his chair, it scraps on the tile floor. “I have to go.” With that, the door bangs closed behind him, leaving David alone.

🌟🌟🌟

On Monday there’s no sign of Patrick until the end of the day when he slips in the door just before closing, sitting at the same table until David flips the lock on the door, closing the two of them inside. He seems looser today and David adds oregano for joy and lovage for strength to Patrick’s chamomile tea.

“Can I help?” Patrick gestures to the broom that David has retrieved from its spot behind the cooler.

“Sure.” Normally David charms the broom to help gather the dirt, but Patrick will just have to do it the old-fashioned way. He hands over the broom, the brush of Patrick’s fingers against his sends a tiny electric shock through him, like static from a wool carpet.

Artemis emerges from the back as Patrick runs the broom around the corners of the room as though she’s drawn to Patrick the same way David is. Despite keeping his back to the room, David is conscious of Patrick’s every movement, mentally mapping his path through the room. He jumps when Patrick’s voice fills the empty bakery.

“All done.” Patrick empties the dustpan into the garbage and tucks the broom back in its corner. “What are those?” Patrick gestures to the jars of herbs that David has pulled from the cupboard, taking advantage of Patrick’s help to do a proper inventory.

“Oh, I like to experiment with different flavor combinations.” He waves a hand in the air, the light glinting off his rings. Patrick’s eyes follow the movement and David clenches his hand into a fist before he accidentally charms Patrick. Without the herbs to bind it, a charm won’t stick for long, but it would be awkward to have to explain how he’d turned Patrick into a toadstool, even for a few minutes.

“Well, don’t change that chocolate one you gave me last week. I think it changed my life.” Patrick is clearly joking and David gives a strained smile in return. What if he has changed Patrick’s life? What if he’s responsible for him breaking up with his fiance? And all because David was selfishly interested in Patrick? He should never have used such a specific charm on Patrick. His meddling has probably ruined Patrick’s life. “I meant for the better, in case that wasn’t clear.”

“That’s good to know.” David tidies away the jars, putting them back in their precise order. “Chocolate is well known to have life-changing properties.”

With a grin, Patrick bumps his shoulder against David’s, making the room feel unbearably small. “Listen, do you want to get a drink or something?”

“I can’t tonight.” He can’t get any more involved in Patrick’s life, no matter how badly he longs to. Patrick’s just broken off a relationship that lasted longer than all of David’s relationships combined. The last thing David wants is a rebound fling that will only end in heartbreak. Especially if one of his charms is involved. “I, um, I have to Facetime with my sister. She needs my help to pick out an outfit for this movie premiere she’s been working on and we’re going to have to go through all the choices and it will take a couple of hours so I just...can’t...tonight.”

“Okay.” Tendrils of Patrick’s disappointment hang in the air, engulfing both of them. It’s for the best. This way, no one will get hurt. Especially him. He wraps the false comfort of the lie around himself, knowing it’s too late.

🌟🌟🌟

Despite his refusal to go for drinks, it becomes a ritual. Every day, just before closing, Patrick slips in the door, helping David sweep the floor and do the dishes and finish any other chores that David has for him. In hindsight, David supposes he should have realized that he was becoming overly attached to Patrick’s presence, but it crept up on him so gradually that he missed the inflection point from when Patrick went from a nice guy who stopped in the shop occasionally to someone David is falling in love with.

“I quit my job.” Patrick announces into the silence of a Tuesday evening. He’s been sweeping for a few minutes, Artemis observing him from a chair by the door.

The words sent a swoop of guilt through David. Has he completely blown up Patrick’s life? “Are you auditioning to be a baker’s assistant? Because I can’t afford to pay you.”

“No, not exactly.” Patrick leans on the broom for a second, his eyes dark as he watches David from across the small space. “I’m leaving town, getting a fresh start.”

“Oh.” David’s fingers twitch as he packs away the day-old muffins. He could bind Patrick to him. With the right charm and the right mix of herbs, he could keep Patrick here, sweeping his floors every night. His fingers twitch again.

“Rrowrr.” As though she senses his thoughts, Artemis yowls at him in warning.

“When, um, when are you leaving?” His voice threatens to crack and he forces it into compliance, trying to keep his question as casual as possible.

“Tomorrow.” The word drops like a glass ball between them, shattering into a thousand pieces on the tile floor, taking a piece of David’s heart that he hadn’t realized belonged to Patrick with it, crumbling to dust.

“I hope you find what you’re looking for.” It was stupid to think that he might have been what Patrick is looking for. Just because his magic accidentally changed Patrick’s life, that’s no reason to assume that his future decisions will involve David. Hundreds of people eat his baking every week, taking the joy and strength and gratitude David gives them without so much as a backwards glance. And he likes it that way. The last thing he wants is a bakery full of groupies clustered around waiting for him to bestow the next charm on them like some sort of flour-covered prophet.

“Me too.” Patrick starts sweeping again and David almost misses his next words. “If only I knew what that was.” Patrick finishes sweeping and places the broom back in its spot beside the cooler. He leans on the counter next to David, watching as he organizes his ingredients for the next day. Even with the separation between them, David can feel Patrick’s body heat, it flows over him like a warm blanket pulling David towards him. Spearmint. He needs to collect spearmint from the garden and...and basil and...dammit. He gives up the herbs as a bad job and reaches for his mixing bowl instead.

“Let me make you some cupcakes for the road.” The words spill from his lips before he can stop them. He pulls out the baking pans and flour, scattering the ingredients across the countertop in a disorganized spiral.

“You don’t have to do that.” Patrick looks startled by his sudden burst of activity.

“No, I’d like to.” He tosses the butter and sugar into the mixing bowl before Patrick can say anything further, channeling his impending loss into the batter. He can’t charm Patrick to stay, but maybe he can put the things he feels into one last batch of baking.

He hesitates over the herbs and spices before settling on almond for hope and lavender for love. At the last second, he adds white violets as a last second encouragement for Patrick to take a chance on happiness. Dusting the cupcakes with witch hazel and sugar, he seals the magic by drawing the charm in the air above the pan.

The cupcakes are golden brown out of the oven. Patrick reaches for one before David slaps his hand away. “They have to cool.” He sets them out on a baking rack before pulling a tub of buttercream icing out of the fridge. Filling a piping bag, he offers the spoon to Patrick, ignoring the way his tongue licks the leftover frosting from the shiny metal.

It’s good that Patrick’s leaving. Having him here, in David’s space, is too much. The temptation to use his magic to bind Patrick to him is overwhelming. By the time David finishes icing the cupcakes and boxing them up for Patrick, he’s almost convinced himself that it’s true.

“I should probably go.” Patrick clutches the white cardboard box to his chest but he doesn’t move any closer to the door. “Early start tomorrow.”

“Mmm, well, I get up at five, so I don’t think you know the meaning of early.”

“David, I—” Patrick breaks off, his knuckles are white on the box as he moves towards the door. “Thank you. For the cupcakes. And for everything.”

“Good luck, Patrick.” He hopes Patrick doesn’t hear the way his voice shakes as the door swings closed behind him.

🌟🌟🌟

The next morning is just like any other morning. David yawns as he pulls out his baking pans, pushing away the tinge of sadness that comes from knowing that he won’t see Patrick today. Or again, probably.

The day drags on. David bakes muffins and cupcakes and cookies and scones, more than he can possibly sell. Most of it will end up at the food bank, but he doesn’t care, throwing himself into the comfort of butter and sugar. He can’t quite bring himself to charm his baking with love and happiness when they’re so far out of reach, so he settles for comfort and patience and hope instead. Perhaps if he’d focused on those all along, he wouldn’t have created the mess with Patrick.

He feeds the cat and chats with his regulars and drinks cup after cup of coffee, searching for something that will chase away the emptiness that grows every time the door opens. By the end of the day, he’s tense and jittery, every sound making him want to claw his way out of his skin. He watches the clock for most of the afternoon and when his last customer leaves at a quarter to five; he follows almost at her heels to lock the door. Before he can turn the lock, the door is pulled out of his hands, revealing an all-too-familiar face.

“Patrick?” David blinks, trying to chase away the illusion that his mind has conjured out of thin air. Patrick steps towards him, forcing David back into the bakery. The door falls shut with a heavy sound, enclosing them in the small space. “What...what are you doing here?”

“I couldn’t do it.” Patrick’s voice is wrecked. “I drove and I drove and I drove and I stopped to eat one of your cupcakes and it tasted like…” Patrick trails off as if he expects David to magically know what he means.

“Like sugar?”

Before David can stop him, Patrick kisses him, sliding one hand around the back of his neck, stretching up on his toes to brush his lips against David’s. Someone lets out a whimper as David wraps his arms tightly around Patrick’s neck, holding him impossibly close as Patrick’s lips find his for the second time, eager and hot in a way that makes David’s stomach swoop. “Like home. David, they taste like home.”


End file.
